


Mundane Bliss, Remix

by HogwartsToAlexandria



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Tower, Canon Divergence - Post-Avengers (2012), Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Remix, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:53:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22559716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HogwartsToAlexandria/pseuds/HogwartsToAlexandria
Summary: CAP-IRONMAN REMIX EXCHANGE, from this poem byonly_more_love,Mundane Bliss:What is perfect happiness? Steve Rogers could tell you."
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 2
Kudos: 48
Collections: 2020 Captain America/Iron Man Remix Exchange





	Mundane Bliss, Remix

**Author's Note:**

  * For [only_more_love](https://archiveofourown.org/users/only_more_love/gifts).
  * Inspired by [mundane bliss](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21672712) by [only_more_love](https://archiveofourown.org/users/only_more_love/pseuds/only_more_love). 



> Heyy! This is my version of Only_more_love's poem "Mundane Bliss". I read it, and it took my breath away and i couldn't let it go, so I deeply hope you enjoy this dear Only. 
> 
> It was betad by Desdaemona on discord and I'm so grateful, thank you dear 😘
> 
> If you haven't read the poem yet or don't remember it well, I suggest heading there, it's 150w long so it won't take you long ;-) and in addition to seeing how gorgeous it is, you'll be able to have a double reading of this fic :)

Sometimes Steve thinks about Erskine's words, about good, and about strong people. He tries to picture the reactions he'd have if he was here to witness the simple things that happen in Steve's life when the battlefield lets him out of its ring - whichever New York street, or flying helicarrier, or nondescript building it is this time. He tries to imagine what the man would say, seeing him now, only slowly learning to let himself live outside of the uniform, only painstakingly teaching himself the ways to a balanced life - one where he answers the calls of duty, as much or as little as is needed, and makes grilled cheese for the man he loves in his down time.

There's music playing in the background, Aretha Franklin, a favorite - he's been slowly making his way through the decades of history and culture he's missed and even as he's now well into the 90s, Britney and Madonna have nothing on The Queen of Soul. Tony pushes him to learn more and more, quizzes him to show him just how much he's gathered already when Steve feels like he'll never be able to catch up on his 70 years of nap and he even recruits people to help him further. Stephen Strange has proved invaluable in music indeed, Peter and Harley know everything there is to know about pop culture, Rhodey is their resident history nerd, and Pepper the art one. He's covered. 

That's another thing that's responsible for the smile that now tugs at Steve's lips in the midst of his concentrated frown - can't burn their lunch - family. He didn't think that would be in the books for him either in the beginning. And yet. 

It's fascinating the number of things people you love and who love you back can bring you, how everything stands at a distance, how the very presence of these people shields you to lengths that vibranium could never dream to reach. In all things, Steve now knows he can rest easy with the knowledge of Tony's presence in his life and heart and positively yearn for his warmth between his arms, coming back to him at the end of each day, at the very least. 

There's very little that Tony doesn't know now; they're too intricately connected, too synergistically entwined that Steve's thoughts are an open book to the man he loves and likewise with Tony's forever rambling mind. There's nothing Steve likes more than the conversations they're able to conduct without a word, with barely a touch of their fingers to an elbow and a fleeting, or challenging, or longing gaze. 

It's an entire symphony of words that play, silently, at the bottom of blue eyes that reach for their brown counterparts. It's everything Steve thought he'd lost when he went into the ice and again when he failed to keep Bucky from vanishing into the wild once more. Tony brings him so much more than he could ever know, than he would ever give himself credit for. 

The cheese is turning a runny yellowy orange in the pan, evading the confines of the bread with joyful sparklike sounds that fill Steve's heart as much as they fill his nose. Hunger pangs in his belly, and his ears train back when the familiar swish of the elevator doors sounds in turn. Right on time. Not that that's a habit. 

Steve can tell something is different about Tony's walk before he's even started turning around to face him - he puts his spatula down, the head of it resting on the side of the pan so the grease of the cheese won't stain the station. He can't help grinning when he does catch his first glimpse of Tony. 

He's bent down trying to tug off dress shoes that might as well be socks at this point. Taken as he was in Aretha's keys and notes, in the joyful mayhem of his thoughts, Steve hadn't even noticed the rain that poured outside, and still does. He notes now, out of the corner of his eye, the downpour that the large windows make a show of, the heavy spouts of water that come down on New York without missing a bit. He can't take his gaze away from Tony now, though. Can't help taking his fill of the sight the man makes - drenched in water from head to toe, his hair standing in spikes Steve wants to rub his face in, his navy suit turned black by the elements and sticking to his legs and arms in what must be very uncomfortable. 

Tony looks cute. Like a disgruntled cat pouting and ready to whine. 

Steve doesn't say anything, just raises his eyebrows in question, and hides the smile that tugs at the corners of his lips when Tony's answer is to frown further.

"Fuck everything; it all sucks. Hold me, Steven, right now."

His voice is sullen, tired, a little out of breath like he's run under the whipping torrent outside which is so uncharacteristically Tony that Steve's eyebrows shoot higher up. He's quick to turn off the hotplates and move the pan to the unused one, his arms opening as if on reflex for Tony's slow approach, dragged feet and plaintive scowl. 

It doesn't take them long to relocate to the kitchen table, their embrace a gentle mess of heavy fabric and uncomfortable dampness, a tender mix of fatigue and awe, and trust, and abandon.

Steve feeds them both pieces of grilled cheese from the plate he's assembled, the strings of cheese, molten and delicious on their starving taste buds. It's quiet, and he gives in to the impulse of pressing his face to the side of Tony's head, his chin following the path his lips want to take as it tilts to let him kiss his temple, and then his hair. It coats his mouth in a thin layer of the mist that still clings to Tony's everything. 

A slight chill runs through both their bodies, it's time to change into warmer, more hospitable clothing and forget about the rush of the outside world. Time to follow the inspiration of teeth nipping at the feeding fingertips, the mood serene, their muscles relaxed - the perfect picture of home, and mundane bliss.  
  



End file.
